Just Death, Kind Umpire Of Men's Miseries.

The Will Is Deaf And Hears No Heedful Friends.

Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.

If People Knew How Much I Hated Them, They'd Love Me For Holding It In.

Affection, Mistress Of Passion, Sways It To The Mood Of What It Likes Or Loathes.

Fair Is Foul, And Foul Is Fair, Hover Through Fog And Filthy Air.